The beach is different this time of the morning. Your only companions are the seagulls and the occasional jogger. Come back in a few hours and there will be crowds of families, teenagers, and grandparents everywhere. No doubt the kiosk will be making a killing. Don’t get cornered by the old ones, they’ll talk your ear off about how the prices are going up and the coffee is never as good as it was before.
But that’s for later.
Today.
Right now.
In this moment.
I just have to breathe. A rare Scottish blue sky.
The sun behind me. That’s the price of living on the west coast. Come back this evening and there will be a beautiful sunset of red and yellows, like a painting or a dream.
But right now, all I need is here.
I take a look around.
I slip off my shoes and my socks. Feel the sand under my feet and between my toes. I look out to the water, crashing gently onto the beach. I look out and can see Arran across the water, ancient and mysterious in the morning light.
The early morning sunshine warms my face. I’m here to welcome a new day.
The smile across my face.
I jump over a couple of pools of water the tide has left behind.
As I reach the shoreline, the waves break gently, and I feel the cold water over my toes and feet. It feels like I can see for miles from here this morning, miles of beautiful blue.
When I was younger, I used to love spending hours in front of a screen or up in my room playing guitar.
These days, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here. In the here and now. Under the sky.
I press play on my phone and the drums start up. I take a walk along the shore, with my feet in the water, the sun in my face, and the bass pumping.
I am alive, in the here and now.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 